


And on goes the world

by doomed_spectacles



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Feelings, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 12:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20008642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomed_spectacles/pseuds/doomed_spectacles
Summary: "Oh no, if we're going to explode,  Idefinitelydo not want to be sober. Let's do it."After the bus ride, Aziraphale and Crowley face their impending doom. They drink. And they figure out the prophecy by doing what they do best: bickering and teasing one another.





	And on goes the world

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in AGES. But Good Omens has taken up lodging in my brain and won't leave. May as well oblige.
> 
> No beta, so all mistakes are my own - please forgive my rusty writing fingers.

They stood drinking whiskey in the dark in front of the large windows that made up one wall of Crowley's office. The lights of London glowed brightly; the city lived on beneath them. Aziraphale broke the silence.

"It'd be funny, you know, if it weren't also quite dreadful. If all this," Aziraphale gestured with his drink, "all of them, were to go on unaware ... and all we did, all that we said and dared to hope for ... the world continues but we're not a part of it." He stared out at the city and put his hand on the glass as if to steady himself. "I suppose that was the point, wasn't it? The world goes on."

He turned to Crowley, who wasn't looking at the city but at Aziraphale. He'd taken off his glasses as soon as they entered the flat.

"The world goes on," Crowley repeated. He raised his glass and took a drink. 

Aziraphale did likewise. "When do you suppose they'll get to it, then? Hell, that is."

Crowley thought for a moment, resting the glass against his chin. Arizaphale watched him. "Suppose it won't be long. They'll be sending everyone back tonight. Revenge'll come tomorrow, sure enough."

They both drank silently, looking out at the night sky.

"Those bastards'll do it in front of everyone, too." He took a drink and made a disgusted face. "Beelzebub'll be sittin' there all low and mighty in a damned giant chair proclaiming judgment, or I'll eat my hat. If I had a hat." Crowley sneered at the thought.

"Yes, well, what _demon_ would be complete without a giant chair," Aziraphale replied, breezily.

Crowley turned to him, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "Are you making _fun_?" He stepped into Aziraphale's space and growled, "We're about to die and you're making _fun_ of my _chair_?"

Aziraphale remained still as the hissing demon approached. "It's a very _nice_ damned giant chair." He took a sip of whiskey, eyes never leaving Crowley's. The silence stretched for a moment, then two. Aziraphale broke first, a smile spreading slowly from his eyes to his lips. And then they were both laughing giddily into their drinks.

When the laughter shifted back into silence, Aziraphale said, "But was it worthwhile, Crowley?"

"What?"

He turned his head back to the view of the streets below. "All this. The centuries here. The death, and new life from it. The temptations and miracles. The ... Arrangement." He paused. "All the food and music and books and clothes, and ... " 

He turned his body to face Crowley, who had stayed mere centimeters from his side. "And the past eleven years of us doing a terrible job at god-fathering. The bookshop, and the ... Oh Crowley, the _Bentley_." Aziraphale smiled but his eyes were sad. "Was it worthwhile, knowing that it'll be over tomorrow?"

A small table appeared and Crowley set his drink down carefully. He brought his hand to Aziraphale's face and looked directly into the angel's eyes.

"I wouldn't change a damn thing."

The space between them closed and their lips met briefly, softly, before Crowley pulled away. "Except the _fourteenth_ century. I'd blight that entire hundred years from existence, given the chance." Aziraphale smiled and kissed him again but Crowley pulled back. "And your magic act. I'd definitely go back and-"

" _Now_ who's making fun?" Aziraphale pouted.

Crowley pressed him into the window and kissed him, harder this time. The drink in Aziraphale's hand fell to the floor, unnoticed. He reached up to hold the back of Crowley's head and gently stroked his copper hair. When they parted, Crowley said, "Every single second was worth it, because it led to this one didn't it?"

Aziraphale touched his forehead to Crowley's. "Oh Crowley, the things you _say_." His voice broke a little on the last word.

Crowley grinned. "Never been one for thinking before speaking. Call it my demonic nature. 'S very-

"Brave-"

Crowley cut him off. "Reckless."

"Sometimes I wish I could- well, one can't expect recklessness to be a defining trait of an angel, I suppose."

Crowley cocked his head to the side. "Says the angel who gave away a flaming celestial weapon on a whim." He raised his eyebrows to make his point. "Says the angel who fled heaven with no body just to do a bit of motorbike touring squeezed in tight with another soul." He retrieved his drink and it filled itself, this time with very good scotch. "Come to think of it, you may be more reckless than I am, angel. All I did was drive."

"Okay, okay. Point taken." Aziraphale smoothed the front of his clothes. He noticed the spilled drink and miracled it back into his hand, full. "It's hardly my fault if a bit of your ... demonic nature... rubbed off over the centuries." He looked at Crowley slyly.

"I know you don't believe that for a second," Crowley said, incredulous.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "Even if it had, I'm pretty sure it would only serve to fan the flames Upstairs. Literally."

"They're going to burn you alive?"

Aziraphale nodded. "Quite."

He didn't say anything but Crowley's face showed every bit of the anger he felt for a moment, before returning to a somewhat neutral, if pained, expression. 

"Angel," he said quietly. The two syllables and all the emotion Crowley put into them hung in the air between them.

Aziraphale downed his entire drink in one go. He licked his lips and looked Crowley up and down before setting aside his glass. He muttered quietly, "What kind of an angel am I, anyway?" He grabbed Crowley's jacket in both hands and kissed him. 

Crowley responded immediately, bringing one hand to Aziraphale's head and the other around his waist. He deepened the kiss, tasting Aziraphale's lips and tongue. The angel made a small sound, like the relief of coming home after a long day. Crowley bit down on his ear gently and said in a low voice, " _My_ kind of angel."

Aziraphale's breath left him all at once. Crowley pressed kisses down Aziraphale's neck till he reached his collar.

"Wait-"

Crowley made an exasperated noise. "Come on, angel it's our last night on Earth-"

Aziraphale didn't hear him. "What was it you said just a moment ago?"

"That I'd go back in time and stop you from learning magic if I could and that you're a reckless fool of an angel who goes around possessing humans like you're looking for an exorcism."

"I'm ignoring the bit about the magic act." Aziraphale pulled back and worried his bottom lip, thinking. "But you're right. I've done something very un-angelic today."

"Was just kissing-"

"Not that. I possessed a human!"

Crowley scrunched up his face. 

"No angel is supposed to be able to do that, Crowley!" Aziraphale said, excited. "Listen, if I could possess a human, I could possess _you_ , my dear." He made a back-and-forth gesture with his hands, clumsily.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "You want to possess me?" 

"And vice versa. Listen, if it's me and not you, no matter how much holy water they dunk me in, it won't matter. You'll still be alive." Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley's cheek. "Choose your faces wisely."

Crowley's face went from pinched with confusion to wide with surprise and admiration.

"Choose your faces wisely!" He shouted, bringing his hands up victoriously and knocking his bony hip into the demonically-manifested table holding their drinks. "Agnes Nutter, you crafty old bird!" He steadied the table with both hands.

"You might want to sober up if we're going to try this," Aziraphale said.

Crowley grinned, his eyes taking on a mischievous gleam. "Oh no, if we're going to explode, I definitely do not want to be sober. Let's do it."

They clasped hands. And on continued the world, with them in it.


End file.
